Here We Go Again

The Next Generation has survived tragedies and enjoyed happiness during their first years at Hogwarts. Now older, smarter, and more united, their bonds are tested as life keeps getting harder. Everything starts to get challenged when emotions change...

It was massive—the green grass, the willowy trees, the intricate bushes, nor the vibrant flowers had ever looked so grand in their natural state before. He had walked down that garden, down that pebbled pathway overshadowed by the leaves of the tallest trees, for years, and yet he had never thought them beautiful. The vegetation was his grandmother's greatest hobby, a pastime that was raved about and renowned throughout the posh circles, but it was as if for the first time he was really seeing how intense the color burned, how potent the earthy and floral smell was.

To allow himself the conceit, he knew that the gardens of Malfoy Manor were a gem within themselves, but the way it was set in decoration, he thought it was a vision of heaven. The splendor was all white: tables, chairs, clothes, the marbled chapel at the center, beneath a tree with cascading white flowers, and even the light that was gleaming.

"—No! Absolutely not! I forbid it!"

"—Forbid it? Ha."

Standing outside of grand, mahogany doors with authentic golden handles, I took a deep breath before entering the danger zone that the main living room of Malfoy Manor was holding. The argument going on inside could be heard from the upper levels of the manor, and I was instructed to stop it, no matter the dread I felt for involving myself in that sort of tension. You had to be a mad man to do so, but, as I was told, I had no other choice; after all, I had been born and married into it.

"—You don't get it! This could ruin her life."

"—It will not, you idiot. She is old enough. She can make her own choices."

"—It's dangerous!"

"—Says who? There are millions of girls out there who are perfectly all right."

"—It's true," said a girl with a chiming voice that contradicted with the other two. "Everyone does it. It's quite common in the Muggle World, actually."

"It's quite common in the Muggle World," repeated my father.

As I entered the living room, I witnessed Mister Weasley's frown light him up in that famous red shade that matched his hair. "Since when does a Malfoy consider muggle methods better than our own?"

Sitting on a leather armchair beside the fireplace, Draco Malfoy took a silent sip from his glass of whiskey. When his grey eyes turned bright, like he had very much enjoyed the liquor, and the burn in his throat that it left, he turned his constant smirk to his former childhood nemesis. Then, he confidently said, "Since I became the favorite."

He walked like he owned the world, like the universe what at his feet and it was his for the taking, to do and make anything with it if he so willed it. A grin larger than life tugged at his lips and his heart pounded in his chest like a drummer was lost in his beat, yet, his footsteps were light. He went down a familiar path that led to the drawing room, where he expected to find his parents. He knew that his mother would melt at seeing his glee, and that his father would look on, still a little wary, but supportive nonetheless. None of it mattered, though; it was his day, the best day of his entire life, he could safely say, and he needed that velvet box in his father's pocket to make the day worthy of belonging in history books.

'Father, I hope you—' He stopped on his tracks, his energetically happy words fading from his mouth when he did not see his parents, rather a brunette woman who should not have been there all alone.